


trading pawns

by euphemea



Series: slithered spells and lion's maw [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Chess, Gen, Slytherin Claude, Slytherin Sylvain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: Claude clenches a fist under the table, willing himself not to react. This is another one of those Wizard Things that everyone else takes for granted, especially in Slytherin house. You would have thought that someone ought to teach the Muggle-raised students customs if they’re expected to act on them, but no. Of course not. No way wizards would ever stoop to the level of actually trying to reach out to Muggles.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Claude von Riegan
Series: slithered spells and lion's maw [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662478
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	trading pawns

**Author's Note:**

> this was initially for sylvain week day 3: red (in a sea of green), but then claude pov took over so now it's my first attempt at writing claude! no connection to the first piece in the series besides being set in the same universe.

Sylvain’s bishop takes off its hat and viciously slaps down the poor pawn that dared to stand in its path and the smaller piece lets out a high-pitched wail as it falls. It crumples to the board in shattered fragments. 

“Whoa,” says Claude, eyes widening. Sylvain grins at him across the table, lop-sided and victorious. The smirk is sharp, almost threatening in the off-green light of the Slytherin Common Room. The fourth-year isn’t actually big or threatening enough to really pull off the look—even with the bad, watery lighting—so he mostly looks like one of the wannabe-bullies from primary school. Claude charitably doesn’t point it out.

“Betcha didn’t see that coming.” Sylvain draws his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair, rocking against its rear legs.

Actually, Sylvain had walked his pieces straight into Claude’s trap, but: “Do they all do that?”

Sylvain frowns, confused. “Do what?”

“Do they always break? Do you just have to keep buying new sets every time you want to play a game?”

“I mean, yeah, of course they break. But it’s not like they stay broken, it’s Wizard’s Chess.” Sylvain’s giving Claude a funny look, like he’s missed something important. He drops back the chair back onto all fours to sweep the remnants of Claude’s pawn off the board. The bits of animated porcelain quiver in an unruly pile by the corner board as they stand guard over the rest of the game.

Claude clenches a fist under the table, willing himself not to react. This is another one of those Wizard Things that everyone else takes for granted, especially in Slytherin house. You would have thought that _someone_ ought to teach the Muggle-raised students customs if they’re expected to act on them, but no. Of course not. No way wizards would _ever_ stoop to the level of actually trying to reach out to Muggles.

Mum had taught him a little—enough to get by, enough to seem like he belongs—but she doesn’t like being reminded that she’s a witch most days. She loves the hard work and cleverness of Muggle technology (and, after seeing how wizards handle their problems, Claude can’t say he disagrees), and she rarely reaches for her wand. Instead, the old hunk of wood gathers dust in the attic, resting among the mess that hold the other vestiges of her former life. 

She fell in love with the Muggle world when she married Dad and she never looked back. 

It’s a right romantic story, and Claude’s happy at home, mostly. So what if his parents tell him to toughen up when the other kids bully him. So what if he gets odd looks for weird things happening around him sometimes. So what if he still has to be trained in magic so it doesn’t go haywire. He’s fine, he’s dealing with it. Not like anyone listens when he says things _aren’t_ perfect.

“Hey, Claude, buddy, you okay there?” Sylvain’s voice cuts in, puzzled concern etched into his ridiculously red eyebrows. 

Claude blinks. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Knight to E4.”

The horse moves, jumping up to stomp on one of Sylvain’s pawns. It goes down with a whimper. The older boy winces and wipes the shards of his fallen piece off the board, letting them fall into his own graveyard of shattered chess souls.

“Hmm… Give me a minute.” 

Claude nods, his eyes dropping to inspect the rubble of his own downed chess piece. He can still tell where the head was, and it’s honestly kind of grotesque to see it lying there in a helpless puddle.

“ _Reparo_.” Claude flicks his wand, focusing on the way the familiar spell spreads warmth to his fingertips. It’s one of the first ones Mum taught him and arguably the most useful.

Nothing happens, and the broken huddled mass continues to shiver.

“Hey, Sylvain…” The older boy hums in acknowledgement, head nodding for Claude to continue. “How do I repair these?”

“What? Oh, the pieces? They’ll fix themselves when someone wins.”

Claude frowns. Seems inefficient and untrustworthy, but whatever.

“Sure.”

Sylvain drums his fingers against the table, nonsensical and rhythmless, utterly distracting and absolutely annoying. If he’s trying to break Claude’s concentration, it won’t work. 

Sylvain sighs. “Guess I’ll just castle.” The pieces jump to attention and move, stepping heavily as they skirt around each other to take their new places. “You’re actually pretty good at Wizard’s Chess, aren’t you, firstie?”

“Pawn to A4.” Claude frowns. “Even Muggles have chess. Who doesn’t know chess?” 

Sylvain cocks his head curiously. “Do they?”

“Do Muggles? Of course they do,” he says, scoffing. “Chess was invented before the Statute of Secrecy, with historical records dating back 1500 years, and considering the games haven’t diverged that much other than the…” He waves his hand. “…magical pieces, I’d say that there’s been spillover both ways.” 

“Huh. You learn something new every day. Right little Ravenclaw, aren’t you?” Sylvain says, grinning, all teeth.

Claude shrugs. “If you say so. Anything’s better than being a mindless part of a snake pit.” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. Claude rolls his eyes. “Yes, pun intended.” 

“You’re not wrong, Riegan,” he says, grinning. His gaze flicks over to the rest of the Common Room and he tilts the chair back once more. “But you know, we were all put in here for a reason. Sometimes, it’s a shitty reason, like your father telling you it’s the ‘right house’ for your family and you listening because you don’t understand. And maybe, for some Merlin-be-damned reason, the stupid Hat agreeing with him.” 

A scowl settles across Sylvain’s face. It twists his features into something darker, actually a little menacing. Claude blinks and it’s gone, as though Sylvain never stopped smiling. Claude catalogues that for later. 

“Sometimes, it’s in your nature.” Sylvain’s eyes land on Hubert von Vestra, another fourth year. “Sometimes, it’s because you need it.” This time, he looks at Edelgard von Hresvelg, seated next to Vestra. 

Claude makes a note to hold onto all the secrets Sylvain seems intent on spilling.

Sylvain pauses, dropping his chair forward and leaning in to prop his chin against his hand. “So which are you?”

The question is light, effortless—like it’s not the most pointed thing anyone has tried to pry from Claude since the term started a few weeks ago. Most of his year-mates are still too excited about finally being allowed to stab their eyes out with wands to notice that there’s something _wrong_ with how the Wizarding World runs. The other Slytherins just want him to fit in, just want him to effortlessly act like one of them and join in the mindless mocking of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors as brainless and cannon fodder. It’s almost amusing how unaware they are of their own shortcomings. 

Whatever the Sorting Hat might think, green is _not_ his color. The Hat is an old, dirty piece of cloth—ratty and patched and damaged—in no way as intelligent as what powerful, non-magical AI can do. What can it possibly know, even if it _does_ have magic that allows it to read his mind? (That doesn’t even touch on the fact that “mind-reading”, to put it bluntly, is an honestly terrifying invasion of privacy, even more than modern social media platforms and their hoarding of personal data.)

Claude grins. “I’m just a bit of a chameleon, I guess. I know how to play things right.”

Sylvain glances down at the board between them and barks out a laugh. “I suppose I can’t disagree with that. You’re doing better than I am in this game.”

Claude tilts his head and smirks. “Well, you’re not so dumb yourself if you can see that. Just like to play up court jester, huh?”

“The what?”

Claude sighs. “Never mind.” 

“Give me a bit and I’ll find a way to come back. I mean, it’s probably futile, but I can’t surrender to a firstie.” 

“How very Gryffindor of you.” Claude snorts. “You can concede any time. There’s no shame in losing to me.”

“Nah, I’ll just think about it later.” Sylvain looks up from the chess board and stares straight at Claude. His smile is still fixed in place, playing at innocuousness, but his eyes are sharp. “Had some more questions for you anyway.”

It’s Claude’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? What about?”

“You’re a half-blood, right?” Claude grimaces, but nods. The term doesn’t sit right with him, but what does in this strange, archaic, stifling world? “But you act like you weren’t raised with magic sometimes. What’s with that?”

Claude freezes. He thought he’d been putting on a pretty good show for the most part, but he supposes he must have been slipping. Not knowing that Wizard’s Chess is violent is probably a bigger tell than he’d like to admit.

“What? What are you talking about?” Claude’s voice doesn’t waver, but it’s obvious from the unimpressed arch of Sylvain’s eyebrows that he’s not buying it.

“Riegan, I’m dumb but not _that_ dumb.” Okay, obviously not true if Sylvain can read him—Claude prides himself on being mysterious. He supposes he’ll just have to be more careful going forward. “You know how to hold your wand better than most firsties, but you get startled by the morning post every couple days and there’s a confused squinch to your cute, little eyebrows when the paintings move. And that’s not all. You try too hard sometimes. Most first years don’t care one jot about potions basics and simple poisons—they think it’s boring. You’ve also got one or two of those books on etiquette from the library.” 

Claude might have to accept that he needs to practice his reactions, but the potions point makes no sense. Potions is basically just chemistry, and it can’t be that weird for a first year to like the class. He can concede the point about Wizarding etiquette though. It’s not his fault wizards are behind the times and he has to backread several hundred years worth of behavioral guides. 

“And you know, Wizard’s Chess,” Sylvain says to cap off his argument, waving his hand over the pieces. A few wave with him. “You mentioned Muggles when I said that you’re surprisingly good. Why mention Muggles? And you clearly haven’t played with a Wizard’s Chess set before despite knowing the game, not if you think the pieces are going to stay broken.”

Claude diverts: “Are you _watching_ me, Sylvain? That’s kinda creepy.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “If that’s how you want to play it, sure. I can promise you that I’m not the only one who’s noticed though.” He brings a hand to his mouth, turning as he calls out. “Hey, Hresvelg!”

Edelgard stiffens but lifts her head to glare across the room. “What, Gautier?”

“Was Claude here raised by Muggles?”

Edelgard growls lightly. “ _This_ is what you wanted to ask me? I need to finish drafting my Herbology essay.” Sylvain shrugs. “Whatever. Yes, _obviously_.” An uncomfortable jolt of ice hits Claude’s veins and he wills his heart to _stop its rabbiting_. Edelgard sniffs. “ _Don’t_ bother me unless you actually need something important.”

“Right, sorry, princess!” Edelgard rolls her eyes, putting her quill to the parchment again.

Sylvain turns back to Claude, smirk Cheshire-like and obscene.

Claude huffs. “So you found me out. So what?” He feels like he’s lost Sylvain’s mind-game, and the sting of defeat burns. 

“So nothing. It doesn’t matter to me.” There’s nothing to suggest that Sylvain’s words are anything but honest, but Claude doesn’t trust them anyway. “But I can’t blame you for being wary about it, even if you’re shit at hiding it.” 

A serious air settles over Sylvain and he folds his hands together on the table, leaning in. 

“Since I’m nice and a good upperclassman, I’ll give you a clue about being in Slytherin: you never know who’s going to bare their fangs. Maybe also keep some antidotes in your back pocket along with those poisons. In case you find yourself drowned in venom trying to climb the ladder here.”

There’s something deadened and hollow in Sylvain’s gaze, something deeply unnerving about how one side of his mouth quirks up to slash across his face, something ugly and yearning rising up to his surface to threaten to swallow both of them whole. 

It’s gone as quickly as it came, the guileless grin returned to its place. Claude can’t help but think that it’s a little skewed.

Claude shuffles backward in his chair, mildly unnerved. “Thanks, I think.”

“No problem! If you need anything, just ask your ol’ pal Sylvain.”

There’s about a 0% chance of that happening, but the offer is definitely something to keep in his back pocket. The advice isn’t bad. Claude is _absolutely_ going to keep up his research on mild poisons, and he’ll throw in antidote work on the side. 

This conversation has been enlightening, a gold mine of new data about the Wizarding World and this House in particular. Sylvain’s actions are especially telling. Claude won’t make the mistake of underestimating his peers again—the den of Slytherin vipers has some real depth to it. It’s a lot more dangerous than he’d originally thought. 

Sylvain’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, all traces of seriousness gone. “I think I’ve got my next move for our Wizard’s Chess match. Wanna keep playing?”

Claude relaxes, lips tilting into a smirk as he nods. He might have given up more information to Sylvain than he wanted to, but _this_ is a game he knows he’ll win. He won’t lose again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)!


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